


in the quiet

by nymja



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers for 8x3, Tumblr fill, explicit hand holding, that Courtly Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: Her thumb doesn’t move from where it accidentally touched his lips. He watches her face, seeing her brows draw as though she doesn’t know what to do, that this is some problem she’s never encountered before.He raises his hand to rest on top of hers. Runs his thumb over her knuckles. She has to know by now. There’s no feasible reason why she can’t.





	in the quiet

Somehow, they all end up at that fire again. It’s colder now, only embers left. But they all sit, in the same chairs, with the same company. There’s so much about this moment that’s simply unbelievable.

Davos excuses himself after an hour with a throwaway statement about seeing to a lad from Flea Bottom. Tyrion, too, leaves to see to his dragon queen. Tormund drinks himself into sleep quickly, somehow managing to sit upright in his chair with his head flopped over the back of it and his snores tearing through the room. On the other side of the cooling fire, Podrick also sits asleep, though less intrusive with his hands folded over his stomach and chin tipped down on his chest.

“Long night,” Jaime says dryly. He’s holding a goblet of wine, the drink untouched but he finds he needs something to occupy his hand. 

“Yes,” Brienne agrees. “And thankfully a long morning to follow.”

The silence between them is comfortable. Jaime gives up the pretense of drinking, setting the goblet on the floor. He wants to say something, to make sure she  _knows,_ but every word makes his tongue press flat against the roof of his mouth. What could he say, anyway? Perhaps there’s nothing  _to_  say.

“You have...” Brienne trails off, and he flickers his gaze to her. “There’s...something, near your mouth. Best to wash it.”

He can only imagine what it is. They’re all still covered in battle, the skin on his face feeling tight from the blood on it. 

“It’ll keep,” he says, too exhausted and unwilling to invest in washing just yet.

Brienne sends him a stern look. “It could infect you. There’s a cut right next to it.”

“It’s  _fine_ , Brienne.”

Her lips press tightly together. “Stay-” her thumb, no longer in her gauntlets, slides across his chin. It grazes the corner of his mouth. “-still.”

Her thumb doesn’t move from where it accidentally touched. He watches her face, seeing her brows draw down as though she doesn’t know what to do, that this is some problem she’s never encountered before.

He raises his hand to rest on top of hers. Runs his thumb over her knuckles. She has to know by now. There’s no feasible reason why she can’t. 

“Jaime...” she starts, and they’re at a standstill, aren’t they? Slowly, her confusion falls away into something else. Softer, maybe. 

Brienne clears her throat. “It’s good we’ve both made it.”

He turns her hand just a little, enough for him to press his lips against her palm. It makes her fingers flex.

“It is,” he speaks into her hand, before he drops them both from his face.

But he doesn’t let go, their hands joined in the space between their chairs. Swallowing hard, Brienne faces the fire and moves her fingers to interlace with his.

They stay like that, until the fire goes away.


End file.
